


Count Your Blessings

by Kisatsel, nobirdstofly, silklace



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Collars, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, LA Era (Crooked Media RPF), Light BDSM, M/M, Praise Kink, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 23:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisatsel/pseuds/Kisatsel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobirdstofly/pseuds/nobirdstofly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/silklace/pseuds/silklace
Summary: When Elijah gives them the signal that the recording is over, Lovett looks over at Tommy. “He said it how many times?”“Hmm?” Jon says, only briefly glancing up from where he’s scrolling through his mentions.Tommy’s in the middle of lifting his headphones off his ears, but he responds immediately, “Twice.”





	Count Your Blessings

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [some recent ads](https://undeployed.tumblr.com/post/177425267452/oh-my-god-that-whole-thing-was-to-get-to).
> 
> keep it secret, safe, and anything else that involves the fourth wall.

When Elijah gives them the signal that the recording is over, Lovett looks over at Tommy. “He said it how many times?”

“Hmm?” Jon says, only briefly glancing up from where he’s scrolling through his mentions.

Tommy’s in the middle of lifting his headphones off his ears, but he responds immediately, “Twice.”

Lovett nods. “That’s what I thought.”

“What are you talking about?” Jon asks, switching over to his email.

“Nothing,” Lovett says breezily. “Ready to wrap up?”

Elijah gives them a thumbs up. “All good if I run?”

Jon furrows his brow and opens his mouth, but Tommy talks over him. “He’s editing at home tonight, remember?”

“Huh? How come?”

“He has a big date to get to,” Lovett says with a grin. To Elijah, he says, “Get the fuck outta here. Have fun.”

“We talked about it at the meeting, man. Were you even paying attention?” Tommy says, and he sounds annoyed.

Elijah gives them a sloppy salute and grabs his bag. Most of the staff had cleared out before they started recording ads, so once the door closes behind him, it’s just a few of the production staff packing up.

Jon focuses in on the annoying email he’s let languish in his drafts all day. It’s finished, he just needs to proof it, but he’s been putting it off for hours. When he finally hits send and stands to go grab his stuff, a hand lands on his shoulder, shoving him back into the chair.

“Stay,” Tommy says. “We’re not done.”

Lovett reclines in his seat, waving to the stragglers as they head out. “Yeah, we’re good,” he calls, “just gotta prep some stuff for Colbert.”

Jon looks up. “We do?”

Tommy’s grip tightens on Jon’s shoulder when he leans down to speak into his ear. “Do I have to gag you?”

In spite of himself, in the middle of their office, in front of people who work for them, Jon shivers. “No,” he says.

“Good, then fucking stay here.” Tommy squeezes his shoulder once more before walking to the door to follow the crew out. Jon sits, quiet, not letting himself reach for his phone or anything else. Lovett’s staring at his own phone, ignoring Jon’s attempts to catch his eye. Jon hears Tommy lock the door to the office, before he strides back to the studio, purposeful.

“You talk to him?” he asks, not looking at Jon.

“No, not yet,” Lovett says, tossing his phone onto the table.

They’re talking over Jon, like he’s not there. “What the—?”

Tommy cuts him off. “You looking for new co-hosts? Planning on leaving us for greener pastures?”

Jon looks between them, feeling like he’s trying to play catch up, two steps behind something they’ve already orchestrated. “I can’t make a joke?”

Tommy is next to him in one fluid motion, grabbing Jon’s wrists tight, pinning them down to the table. “It’s not fucking funny,” he says, his voice low. Lovett stands, moving out of Jon’s line of sight.

“Oh,” Jon says, mouth going dry. Tommy’s fingers are hot against his skin. He takes a breath through his nose, and tries to swallow back the part of himself that immediately wants to go loose and pliant in Tommy’s grip.

He bites the inside of his cheek, raising his chin a little defiantly. “So we're taking everything I say one-hundred percent seriously now?“ He can’t stop licking his lips. He tries to shift in his seat to see Lovett. “Lovett gets to—”

Lovett says, “This isn’t about me,” at the same time that Tommy shoves in closer.

“What the fuck were you trying to accomplish?” Tommy says, releasing one of Jon’s wrists to tug his chin forward so he can't look over at Lovett.

All of their attention is on him, and for once it has nothing to do with the craziness that has been their lives recently. Jon recognizes the warning in Tommy’s tone and tries to arrange his face so Tommy can’t see how it’s affecting him. He’s not sure he’s successful. If they weren’t _at work_ right now there’s a good chance he’d be on his knees already. But he's stuck sitting in the recording studio, and they don't look like they plan to let him leave just yet.

“So, what—,” Jon starts, then tries to smooth out his voice. “What’re you going to do to me?” His eyes are flicking down to Tommy's hand on his wrist, the knuckles gone white. “You gonna punish me for it?” He tries not to sound eager.

“We could leave you here,” Lovett says from behind him. “Lock you in here alone all night.”

Jon scoffs, ignoring the twist in his chest at Lovett’s words, and says, “Right, cool, and then I'm quitting in the morning.” He doesn't _want_ to do that, the words hardly even make sense coming out of his mouth but — he can’t help it. Can’t help himself, not with the way Tommy is leaning over him, pinning him to the table, the way Lovett’s voice is cool and remote.

“You're really not getting it,“ Tommy says, his voice hard. He releases Jon all at once.

Jon doesn't know why he suddenly sniffs and bows his head, but Tommy comes around to stand in front of him, staring at him like he fucked up.

“That's fine,” Jon says, dropping his eyes. “You can leave me here.” He wants Tommy's grip back, wants to be able to lean into it. He forces himself to shrug. “The couches are comfortable.”

Tommy leans over him, crowding further into his space, and tips his chin up with one finger, forcing Jon to meet his eyes. “You know that's not the worst we could do,” he points out, and Jon's breath catches.

Tommy lets his hand slip down to Jon’s neck, wrapping his fingers lightly around it, and Jon can’t help but swallow under his palm. He tightens his hold just for a second, Jon’s eyes falling shut, before he steps away. Jon sways toward him, without meaning to, seeking out the contact. When he opens his eyes, he has trouble focusing, feeling all confused and muddled.

“I—,” he tries to say, but he cuts himself off, and before he can start again, Lovett is behind him, hands resting gently on his shoulders.

“I think he needs a reminder,” Lovett says nonchalantly. “Something that he'll still be feeling tomorrow. Or maybe even the day after that.”

Tommy stares at them, his eyes flicking between Jon and higher, to where Lovett’s standing, and then he smirks and props himself on the table, thighs wide. It stretches the material of his chinos, and Jon can’t help the way his eyes catch on the bulge of his dick.

Tommy’s smirk gets sharper. “What do you have in mind?”

Instead of answering, Lovett tugs Jon's head back again and leans down to kiss him like that — a soft, sweet, brief kiss, their mouths meeting upside down. His other hand comes up to run across Jon's cheek while he kisses him. “Hi,” he says, after pulling away, still smiling down at Jon, almost too tender.

Jon tries to reach for him, sick with want, but Lovett’s pulled away too quickly. Still, with his head tipped back like this, he can at least see when Lovett glances up at Tommy and says, “I wanna leave marks, this time.”

Jon's stomach does a slow, hot roll. “I—,” he says again, but the words dry up when Tommy shoots him a look. He swallows and shuts his mouth.

“What,” Tommy says, leaning forward, voice indulgent. He kisses Jon the way Lovett had — a dry, brief kiss that does nothing to soothe or reassure him, just leaves him wanting more. Tommy's mouth trails over the corner of his lips, his cheekbone, under his eye. “Tell us, baby,” he says, permissive, and Jon shudders, leaning his head forward on Tommy's shoulder.

“I can be good,” he says, and his voice sounds small even to his own ears. ”Better.”

“Yeah, and you’re gonna prove it,” Lovett says. He looks to Tommy. “Bent over the table, you think?”

Jon shivers, trapped between them.

“He can stand,” Tommy says decisively, and he's tugging Jon to his feet before Jon really understands what's happening, positioning him in front of the table and directing him to plant his palms face down. It means he has to bend over a little, use his abs to protect his back from the strain.

He feels Tommy circle behind him and reach around to undo his pants, tug them just past his hips, exposing his ass. His cock, half-hard, is still trapped in his underwear. Tommy slides one big hand up along his spine and Jon — suddenly — he —

Everything feels white hot to the touch, like something sharp and fragile has taken up space inside of his skin. “Please,” he says, needing them to understand. “Please, I want to— wanna show you—”

“You’re going to,” Tommy says, assured, stroking down Jon’s back before his hand disappears, leaving Jon trying to focus on staying here, staying still. On not moving his hands or looking back for them.

“Tommy,” Jon says, when he can't feel or see him anymore, only he thinks he says it — except it comes out — wrenched, desperate. “Lo,” he tries, and it's — bad. Worse.

Tommy covers him then — drapes himself along Jon's back. “I know, baby,” he says, softly, rubbing his palms along Jon's biceps, down his arms.

At the same time, Lovett knees up onto the table, kneels in front of Jon. “Yeah,” he's saying, and Jon knows he’s already trembling, can feel the flush of heat on his face and throat.

Lovett takes Jon's chin in hand and kisses him. Says softly, in between kisses, “Tommy's being sweet on you,” and his voice is low, lower than Jon's used to. “But tonight you said twice that you were leaving the pod, leaving us,” — another kiss — “and you drive me crazy, Jon, fucking— crazy,” and he’s kissing Jon again, wild and a little mindless, and it feels, horribly, like the first time, rushed and driven and hot for each other and unable to say what they mean or how they mean it.

“Lo,” Jon says, “I wouldn't, I didn't—,” but Lovett shuts him up with a kiss, over too quickly, and then is pulling away, sliding off the table to circle back behind Jon again.

“I want you to count,” he says, and the back of Jon's neck goes hot.

The first hit is hard and unyielding, and Jon cries out. He takes a long minute to get his breath back before he says, “One.”

The second is the same, and the third, and the few after, the only difference is Lovett varying where the strokes land.

Jon can see Tommy watching, arms crossed, out of the corner of his eye whenever he shifts his weight. Sometimes he’ll lean toward Lovett, out of Jon’s field of vision, and Jon will just barely be able to hear him saying something, but the steady pattern Lovett’s set doesn’t break, and the sharp sound of his palm hitting Jon’s ass is the loudest noise in the room.

“Ni— ten,” he gasps, wondering if they’ll make him start over if he fucks up the count. His abs are burning, and his arms, not to mention his ass. When he thinks he can’t take it anymore, Lovett starts hitting new places that aren’t yet pink and stinging: the very bottom of his ass, the tops of his thighs, the curve of his hip.

Then a stroke lands, good and center, right where he’s already beaten and smarting, and his arms buckle, sending him bent over the table as he yelps.

“Count,” Tommy prompts, but Jon can’t get air into his lungs to talk, much less remember what number they were on.

“Count,” Tommy says again, and it’s firmer this time.

“I don’t—,” Jon barely recognizes his own voice, it’s so raw. He sees wetness on the surface of the table, and it’s only then he realizes his cheeks are flushed and damp. He blinks hard.

“Five more,” Lovett says. “Can you count those?”

“Ye— yes,” Jon says, and somehow that makes the tears well up again. He straightens up, palms on the table, even though his arms are shaking. He’s pretty sure his legs are, too. Maybe his whole body.

“Good,” Tommy says, and he feels the barest brush of fingertips along his shoulder before Lovett hits him again.

“One,” he grits out, thinking about how he won’t be able to sit tomorrow. Normally when they do this, it’s on a weekend, a holiday even, when he could — Lovett hits him again, “Two,” — could have time off to laze on his belly, plenty of time for them to —

“ _Fuck_ , three,” he gasps, feeling more tears run down his face, unable to reach up and rub them away.

“I can stop,” Lovett says, voice neutral, and Jon sees the way Tommy takes a step closer, automatically, but Jon’s already gasping out a thready, wet, “No,” before he’s had much time to think about it.

He’s trembling with overstimulation from his forehead to his knees but stopping now is — would be — worse. “I want to finish,” he says, “I want the last two,” and he means it, he does, even as his elbows give out again and he finds himself slipping down against the table, shoulders trembling with effort.

“Let me—,” he hears, and feels Tommy’s sure, warm grip. “C’mere,” Tommy’s saying, voice pitched low and soothing, as he tugs Jon up against him, loops Jon’s arms over his shoulders instead, lets him lean against the broad expanse of his chest. “That’s right,” Tommy says, “you don’t have to hold yourself up, okay, sweetheart? Just focus on taking it.”

“You good?” Lovett asks, a little flip, and Jon’s not sure if it’s aimed at him or Tommy, but it’s Tommy who answers. “Yeah, he can handle it.”

Jon grips at his own elbows behind Tommy’s neck, leaning heavily against him, trying not to tense as the next hit comes. He cries out, hiding his face in Tommy’s chest.

Tommy nuzzles the side of his head, says into his ear, “Come on.”

Jon lifts his head, embarrassed to see the mess he’s making of Tommy’s shirt. “F— four.”

“Well done. Just one more,” Tommy says, thumbing some of the wetness from Jon's face and urging him back into position.

Jon lets his weight rest on Tommy, his damp face pressed into Tommy's shirt. His limbs still feel weak but Tommy has a strong arm wrapped around him, holding him in place. Jon tries to do as Tommy said. He focuses on the ache of his cock and the way the sting is radiating down his thighs, on being still and waiting.

The last hit lands high on the back of one thigh, just under the swell of his ass, and Jon shudders, relieved and exhausted and crying and still _wanting_ all at once.

“Five,” is barely out of his mouth, the word soft and wet, before he’s being tugged back.

“C’mere, come on,” Lovett says, turning Jon around and pulling him down so he can straddle Lovett where he’s now sitting in Jon’s chair.

Jon curls into him, trying to get smaller, his forehead against Lovett’s shoulder as he sobs out a shaky breath. Lovett strokes along his back, just barely skating the hot, reddened skin at the top of his ass. “That’s it,” Lovett murmurs, “so good.”

“You took that so well,” he says, and Jon can tell from his voice that he means it. “Didn't he, Tommy?” Jon feels the gentle press of lips against the top of his head. He makes a needy, grateful sound, still shaking.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Did just what we asked. So good for us.” Tommy must have come up behind them because there's a big warm hand resting on the back of Jon's neck and he's perfectly held in place between Lovett and Tommy and their two voices, low and sure and safe.

He jerks, a high-pitched whine shaking loose from his tight chest, when Lovett snakes a hand between them and palms between Jon’s legs.

“Can you wait until we get home?” he asks.

“Want to get you into bed,” Tommy adds.

“Yeah, I— I can, I can, I’ll—,” Jon babbles, until Lovett cuts him off with a kiss.

The hand Tommy has on the back of his neck tightens. “And you’ll take whatever we give you?” Tommy makes a pleased sound when Jon hums his assent. “Even if we want to fuck you? Even if it hurts with how sore you are?”

Jon inhales sharply. “ _Yes_.” He can’t imagine saying anything else to them.

They help him ease off of Lovett's lap and stand up. Tommy pulls Jon’s pants back up and does his fly for him. Jon swipes a hand over his eyes. There's nowhere to hide now he's standing, and he doesn't know how to be a regular person right now. How to stand upright when he — when he wants to sink to his knees and plant his face in the warm, inner curve of Tommy’s thigh. When he’s hollow-boned with the need to be good for them, to do as they say.

He reaches out reflexively for Tommy's hand and steps in close to him, pressing his face against Tommy's neck.

“What do you need, Jon?” Tommy says.

“Just wanna — touch,” Jon says, and it’s inadequate, not what he means, but for now, it’ll do.

Lovett wraps his arms around Jon from behind, firm and warm, and Jon relaxes into his hold.

“We're taking you home,” Lovett says. “So we can get you into bed. Sound good?”

They shepherd him out of the office with hands on his wrists and the back of his neck, trading off to grab bags and lock up.

When they get to the car, Lovett turns him so they’re face to face. “Do you want me to sit in the back—”

“Please,” Jon says, soft, before Lovett finishes asking.

Lovett follows him into the back seat, pressing him up against the door, and Jon can see the edge of Tommy’s smile in front of them. Lovett stays close the whole ride, talking to Tommy — something about the trip to New York that Jon’s not really paying any attention to — running a hand through Jon’s hair occasionally.

It's only a ten minute drive and Jon drifts through it mostly, resting on his sore ass, holding onto his own wrists with his hands, anticipating what's to come. They said he was good, and now they're going to lay him out and let him continue being good for them. Give him something to suck on, maybe — he wants that — fingers, a cock, he'll get them hard, first, before they fuck him. If they even need that. Jon glances over, and he's pretty sure that Lovett's half hard, still, from having Jon bent over and exposed for him to spank. Thinking about that sends a shiver through him and he shifts, hisses at how it feels.

“Feeling it?” Lovett says. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” Jon says, low. “Kinda.”

“Only kinda?”

Jon flushes and looks over at him. “It does,” he says. “Fucking sore.” Then, quickly, “It was— not complaining, though.”

“I know,” Lovett says, and cups his hot cheek, lets Jon lean into his palm and press his lips against Lovett's fingers. “We're almost there.”

They're quiet by the time they pull into the driveway, and Jon would feel sleepy, maybe, if it weren't for the way Tommy glances back at them through the rearview mirror, the casual way he asks Lovett, “Should we make him crawl to the front door?”

Jon feels all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He — he would. He would do that. He could do that, for them.

Lovett makes a face like he’s considering it. “Tempting.” He skritches his fingers around the shell of Jon's ear, petting him, and Jon's stomach flips in a slow tug of arousal. “But we should save his knees, I think.”

Tommy grins, sharp. “Good thinking.” He twists around in his seat, gives Jon a long, even once over, eyes tracking everywhere. It makes Jon feel hot all over, makes him want to sink down on his knees and see how much they can stuff his mouth full of cock.

“Show me,” Tommy says, voice firm, and Jon startles, wondering if he — if he said it out loud, if he’s that obvious, that he wants them to put their dicks in him all the time, that's he's slutty for it —

“I wanna make sure you're still red and marked up, Jon,” Tommy says, as if he's annoyed he has to ask twice.

Jon, on some kind of autopilot, scrambles to flip over on the seat so that his ass is pushed out, so that Tommy can reach over and tug his pants down again in the middle of the — in the middle of the car, in the middle of the driveway, and sure it's dark out, but anyone, anyone could see the way he's letting Tommy manhandle him, the way he's letting Lovett murmur soft praise into his ear, telling him how good he is while Tommy's palm glides over the red, sore skin of his bottom. The way he's letting Tommy prod and pull at his cheeks so that his hole is _right_ _there_.

Available for Tommy to run his fingers against, like he wants to know how far he can push this, wants to know if he could get Jon to sit on his cock right here in the middle of their nice, neat neighborhood.

“Tommy,” he begs, choking, face flaming, even as he pushes back against his hand, seeking out Tommy's touch more insistently.

Tommy's intake of breath is harsh. He takes a minute, as if he's trying to control his breathing, and then tugs Jon's pants back up. “Let's get him inside.”

Jon flips back around awkwardly. Lovett's already out of the car, holding the door open for him. The street's quiet, houses set back from the road. Nobody's watching, but still Jon can't help glancing from side to side. They've driven to his place, not Lovett's or Tommy's, and he feels warm inside about that. His house is theirs too, really, and they know that. They knew he’d want to sleep in his own bed.

“Keys, baby,” Tommy says, and Jon fumbles in his pocket and hands them over. Lovett gives him a little nudge forward in the small of his back once Tommy gets the door open.

Then they're in the hallway, and Lovett and Tommy are both looking at him. Jon feels relief wash over him, because it was part of his — his punishment, kind of, keeping him in the office, proving to him they can spank him at work if they want to. He thinks about that and takes in Lovett's small pleased smile, the way Tommy's watching him with contained impatience, and sinks down onto his knees right there. He lets out a long, slow breath now that his world is rearranged so he's looking up at them.

“Jon, god,” Tommy says.

“He couldn't wait to get on his knees for us,” Lovett says, but it's not scornful; his tone is soft, like he's pleased.

“You wanted to crawl, didn't you?” Tommy says. Jon doesn't know how to answer. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth. Tommy smiles. “Come here.”

That, Jon can do. He straightens up to knee-walk the few steps toward them, and when he gets there Lovett runs a hand through his hair and pulls him in to rest his head against Lovett's hip. Jon guesses they're having some kind of silent conversation above him.

He feels a tug at the back of his shirt. Lovett, pulling him up again, so he goes, huffing displeasure under his breath. Lovett taps his chin so Jon has to look at him, and says, “You looked pretty down there, but that's not where we said we wanted you.”

“Upstairs,” Tommy says, “clothes off, on the bed. Don't keep us waiting.” He punctuates it with a pat on Jon's ass. It stings like it wouldn’t normally, and Jon gasps.

He tries not to run up the stairs, knows they’ll only make him wait longer if he does, but he does rush to get undressed once he’s in his bedroom. He’s eager to get out of his clothes, not only to move the night along, but so he can breathe easier, feel less constricted.

He puts them in the hamper, everything in the right place, knowing Tommy, at least, will appreciate it. Then, looking in the closet, he hesitates, staring at a box he hasn’t opened in awhile. Or, rather, that Lovett and Tommy haven’t. He hasn’t been the one to get it out since the very beginning, but — maybe.

He’s kneeling on the bed, facing the door, when they finally, _finally_ come upstairs. Jon knows it can’t have been long, they wouldn’t have done that to him, but it felt like an age. He keeps his head down, sitting back on his heels even though it stings, his cock still so hard.

He hears Lovett suck in a breath as he approaches the bed. “Yeah?” he says, reaching out to run his fingertips over the collar Jon has carefully arranged on the sheets next to him.

Jon doesn’t say anything. The act of getting it out speaks for itself, he knows. Tommy steps up to the edge of the bed and encircles the back of Jon’s neck with his big hand, squeezing, then pressing harder until Jon shifts in place.

“Yeah,” Tommy responds, for him.

“Do you—?” Lovett asks, and Jon feels his heartbeat pick up when Lovett reaches for the collar.

“Go ahead,” Tommy says, letting go of Jon’s neck to ruffle his hair.

Lovett tilts Jon’s head up with fingers under his chin, so he can loop the collar around the front of his neck. “There you go,” he murmurs, buckling it into place, running a finger underneath it to check the fit.

Jon’s head tips forward automatically as he swallows against the leather. It’s not too tight, not at all, but he can feel the steady pressure of it. They could tighten it, even, he thinks wildly, or Lovett could tug at the back of it, pull it against his throat. They could use it to put him wherever they want him.

“That’s it,” Lovett says, letting go of the collar to run his hand down Jon’s back.

Jon feels himself settle a little more, the tightness seeping out of his body. He sags forward without meaning to, relaxed under Lovett’s touch, and then there are hands on his shoulders, holding him steady.

“Hey there,” Tommy says, and he’s smiling when Jon blinks up at him. “Don’t fall.”

Jon looks down and, fuck, yeah, he’s at the edge of the bed.

“Shh,” Tommy says, rubbing his thumbs against Jon’s collarbones, soothing him. Was he making a noise? He must’ve been.

Lovett’s hands join Tommy’s on him, pushing and guiding him onto his back. “It’s fine, come here.”

Jon draws his knees up, feet planted flat on the mattress, and watches Tommy strip out of his shirt and pants. It's a view he'll never get tired of. “You keeping those on?” Tommy says to Lovett.

“I thought I’d stay fully clothed for the evening, yeah,” Lovett says. Jon can hear the eyeroll in his voice.

Tommy steps toward Lovett and draws him in with a hand on his face, tugs at his henley until Lovett lifts his arms to get it over his head. “As hot as that’d be,” he says, and Jon can hear the soft sound Lovett makes as Tommy runs his hands along Lovett’s shoulders, his chest. “This is better.”

Lovett smirks as if he's going to say something, but instead shakes his head and tilts his face up to kiss Tommy. They've stopped paying attention to Jon for a minute, but he doesn't feel alone. He's just looking and thinking about the puzzle of Tommy and Lovett, and how their love takes form when he's not around. How good they look together.

He can be patient.

When they break off, they both turn to Jon, intent and focused. A muscle in his thigh jumps, but otherwise he stays still. Lovett cocks his head toward Tommy, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, and says, “After you,” and that’s all it takes for Tommy to move into action.

He kneels up onto the bed and nudges Jon's legs wide apart. “Stay like that. Lovett, you got the lube?” Tommy holds out a hand.

“What am I, your assistant?” Lovett says.

“You can fuck him when I'm done,” Tommy says, rubbing softly over Jon's hole with the pad of his thumb like he wants to do more than that, wants to push it all the way in already.

“Fine,” Lovett says, “but if I have to wait, Jon has to wait too. Don't let him come.”

Tommy cups Jon's cock and balls in one big hand, gives a reassuring but firm squeeze. “He can manage.”

Jon wants to say, “yes,” or even, “of course I can,” but his mouth won't make the words come — his tongue would trip, loose and slurry, over the words if he tried.

Lovett kneels by his head and Jon turns toward him, open-mouthed and instinctive, for the touch of his dickhead against his tongue. He thinks Lovett murmurs, “So good,” and the praise trips down his spine, makes him arch further into the feeling of Tommy petting at his hole, but instead of getting to suck on the hot, fat head of Lovett's dick, he finds himself trying to focus as Lovett bends over him, saying his name, once, then twice.

He blinks, and it's like he's hearing Lovett through water. “Jon. Jon. _Sweetheart_.” He feels Tommy's palm come up and settle on his belly, gentle and anchoring.

“M'here,” he manages, blinking slowly, feeling warm and loose-limbed all over. They were going to fuck him, weren't they? He wants them to fuck him.

Lovett kisses him. “Good.” He runs his finger down Jon's nose, over the slope of his lips and chin. “Come up for me a little bit? Can you do that?”

Jon blinks, watching as Lovett looks at Tommy, gives him a small nod in communication. A moment later, he feels the almost gentle bite of Tommy's palm against his thigh, a sharp slap without any real force behind it.

“M'here,” he says, a little more forcefully, but even then it's like talking through wet gauze. What did they want from him again? He turns his head and mouths at Lovett's thigh — they were — they were supposed to give him something to suck on, he wants something to suck on.

“Needy,” he hears, before Lovett's offering him his index and middle finger, just out of reach of his mouth. He strains upwards for it, sinks his mouth down on Lovett's fingers, stupidly, desperately grateful for the weight of them on his tongue. He might moan. He probably moans, but the world feels a little clearer and sharper again.

Tommy's running his palms over his thighs and hips, his dick and belly. It should be distracting but it's — not. It's grounding.

“There you are,” Tommy says, and Jon blinks over at him. “Hey, baby.” Jon's heart picks up. He's grateful ten times over for Lovett's fingers in his mouth, so he can't say the words that are coming to mind at the way Tommy's smiling, soft and endeared, down at him. Instead, he tightens his suck on Lovett's fingers and shifts his arms overhead so that his wrists are crossed on the bedspread above him.

“Yeah,” Tommy's saying, still sweeping gently over his body. “That’s good, baby, that’s so good, but you’re all squirmy— I don't think you even realize it, but you're all squirmy and I know your ass is raw and red. You wanna get on your belly?”

God, he does. He _does_. He's flipping over before he can say anything, and even then they're all hands on him, helping, soothing, touching everywhere. He's — it's — so much. He almost wants Tommy to slap him again, just to bank some of the hot shiver of white noise in his brain. Maybe if he, maybe —

“Oh, fucking look at you,” Tommy says, voice tight. “Showing us that ass.” Jon knows it's — god, shameless, and he can still feel the sting of humiliation even as he rolls his hips back and up, getting his knees under him so he can — so Tommy can see his hole, see where he wants to get _fucked_.

“You know you’re ours, right?” Tommy says, smoothing his hand up Jon’s spine, all the way to the collar and then back down, casually possessive, palming his ass.

Jon nods. He does, he _does_ , but it’s — nice, to be reminded like this. To have to prove it, to —

“Out loud,” Tommy says, and Jon’s chest goes tight before he remembers to breathe.

“I know,” he says, the words colliding, his voice rough.

Lovett’s kneeling in front of him, and he runs his hands down Jon’s arms where they’re braced on the bed, then up to his shoulders and into his hair. “Good. Don’t forget it again.”

“Won’t, m’sorry, I—”

Lovett tightens a hand in his hair. “We know, sweetheart. We know. Let us take care of you now.”

Jon nods as best as he can without throwing off Lovett’s touch. He hears the click of a bottle being opened behind him, and finally Tommy’s pressing a finger inside him.

He’s slow and steady, holding Jon firm when he tries to push back. Jon can take it. He wants more, immediately. Wants it faster and more fingers and, fuck, Tommy’s cock. _Lovett’s_ cock, he wants both of them, and —

“You said you were gonna let us take care of you,” Tommy says, and follows it with a sharp slap to Jon’s ass. it makes him hiss with pain, even as he settles and Tommy’s finger sinks deeper inside him.

“Good, that’s good.” Tommy’s voice sounds almost as wrecked as Jon’s, and despite his words, he adds a second finger quickly, curling them until Jon is writhing with it. Feeling good and full and like his whole body is trembling with the urge for _more_.

“Hey, wanna lean down? You don’t need to stay up like this,” Lovett says.

Jon doesn’t understand what he’s saying until he taps at Jon’s elbow, where his arms are shaking from holding himself up. He thinks of bracing himself back at the office, on the table where Lovett had ruined him, and he whines.

“Come here,” Lovett says, and takes some of Jon’s weight in his hands as he encourages him down onto his forearms, making his back arch at an even more obscene angle. “Is that easier?”

It is, obviously it is, to hold his weight like this, plus it changes the angle in such a good way, letting him rock back onto Tommy’s fingers, the tight grip on his hip loosened a little.

Lovett presses the pads of two fingers to Jon’s face, tapping against his chin until he looks up. “Easier?”

Jon nods. “Thank you,” he makes himself say, then leaves his mouth open and tilts his head so he can get Lovett’s fingers in his mouth.

Lovett sighs in contentment and shifts so he’s sitting cross-legged in front of Jon. His cock is heavy where it’s laying against his thigh, thick and flushed dark, and Jon _wants_ it, but he’ll take this, Lovett’s fingers pressing down on his tongue. This is fine, this is —

Tommy pulls his two fingers all the way out, and Jon hears him pick up the lube again. Then there’s three pressing into him, and Jon couldn’t help the sound he makes around Lovett’s fingers if he tried.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Tommy says, making a soft, punched-out noise when Jon arches back for the fuck of his fingers.

“Beg for it, Jon,” Lovett says softly, “let Tommy hear how much you need it.”

Jon laves Lovett’s fingers. “Please,” he tries to say, and it comes out muffled. Filthy.

Lovett draws his fingers out and rests them on Jon’s lower lip.

“Please, Tom,” Jon manages, pushing his ass up, displaying himself, begging mindlessly. Wanting is the only thing he knows. Then Tommy’s fingers are gone again and he can feel the tip of Tommy’s cock resting against his hole.

“Gonna give you what you need now,” Tommy says, and pushes slowly inside him. It’s always a stretch, he’s never ready for how big Tommy feels, but a good one; Jon’s body was meant to accommodate this, to be held open and filled.

Lovett hasn’t put his fingers back in his mouth and Jon whines, turning his face to the side on the pillow, mouth slack and open.

“Just — fuck,” Lovett says, laughing hoarsely. “Just concentrate on taking it from Tommy, now.” Lovett’s damp fingers rest on the back of Jon’s neck, where the collar’s pressed against his skin. “We’ll stuff you full at both ends some other time.” Tommy draws all the way out and then fucks into him, and maybe Lovett was right because Tommy isn’t being gentle.

He’s glad he has Lovett’s hand helping keep him in place for Tommy. Lovett’s still talking, his words filtering through like there’s a time lag: “You’re not going anywhere, we’re keeping you,” and “taking it so well,” and “we fucking spoil you.” Jon can’t answer, can’t speak.

“How does he feel on your cock, Tommy?” Lovett says, then pitches his voice softer for Jon. “Tommy always gives you what you want, but you know I’m not going to go easy on you.”

Jon shivers, and he hears a groan from Tommy. “Shit, he liked that, Lovett.”

Tommy pulls out so just the head of his cock is tucked inside of Jon, which isn’t — isn’t _enough_ and Jon tries to move back for more but Tommy grips him around the hips and holds him fast. “You can be good for Lovett too, right, baby? Do you want him to tell you how he’s gonna make you cry?” Tommy says, raw sounding, and Jon feels it like a gunshot — he writhes, moaning and tightening around Tommy’s dickhead until Tommy releases his hips, dropping down to kiss his spine and fucking into him furiously, hard and fast and shattering, saying “fuck” like a litany into Jon’s skin.

“Fuck,” Lovett echoes, petting at Jon’s neck, slipping a finger inside the collar and tugging at it until Jon’s breath catches before Lovett goes back to just stroking his skin. “I’m going to, Jon, you know that, right? After Tommy’s done with you. After he comes inside you—” Jon groans, pushing back for more, panting for how much he wants it, “gonna fuck you until you cry, until you’re sobbing with it.”

“Jesus, Lovett,” Tommy says, his hands tightening again on Jon’s hips, angling him so he can thrust inside smoother, get deeper. Jon gasps, hanging his head. He feels so overfull — with Tommy’s dick, Lovett’s promise. With the burning, rough feeling of Tommy rubbing against his reddened skin.

Jon screws his eyes shut. He thinks Lovett’s gonna get what he wants.

“I— fuck, Lo, ah, hold him still, gonna—” Tommy says. Lovett pushes with the hand on Jon’s collar until Jon slumps down further, his cheek against the sheets. He wants to feel it. Lovett squeezes the back of his neck and Jon shivers and clenches around Tommy and feels Tommy’s hands tighten on his hips, hears him gasp as Tommy pulls out and shoves back in and comes, warm and strange and good inside him, Jon’s own cock twitching at the feeling, as Tommy keeps fucking him through it.

“Good,” Lovett says, keeping his hand tight on the back of Jon’s neck, rubbing his thumb over the top of his spine. “You did so good, Jon. You took him so well. You know that?”

Jon nods against the sheets, whining as Tommy slows behind him.

“Feels good? Having his come inside you?”

It takes a couple tries for Jon to make his voice work. “Yeah, ’s— _god_.”

“I know, babe, I know. hang on,” Lovett says, and both he and Tommy have their hands all over him again as Tommy pulls out, slow and careful, calming Jon when he winces.

“You’re up,” Tommy says, and it should be funny, but his voice is so deep when he says it. Lovett rises back onto his knees, and Jon can hear the wet sounds of them kissing over him.

Jon waits, staying still and good below them. It's nice, to listen to the soft, sweet sound of them kissing, the way he can hear the smile in Lovett's voice when he says, “Hi,” dopey and stupid, against Tommy's mouth. He wonders, vaguely, if Tommy's doing that thing that makes them both feel like they're sixteen with a crush — a hot, open-mouthed, cheek-palming kiss followed by these sweet pecks, like he can't help himself, can't stop.

“Okay, okay,” Lovett's saying, and then there's rustling. Jon keeps his eyes trained on the space between his elbows, and besides, it's easier to let them go unfocused, lean in to the sensation of Lovett palming his hip instead, his ass. Of Tommy's fingers soft and gentle on the back of his head, petting and skritching.

He tries to arch into both of them, and Tommy laughs. “C'mere,” he says, softer, dropping down on the bed. He leans back against the pillows and headboard, legs long and lean in front of him, and pulls Jon toward him, so that he's straddling one of Tommy's thighs, arms planted next to Tommy's hips.

Tommy runs his hand down Jon's spine and pitches his voice to Lovett. “This good?”

Lovett makes a considering noise, like he's thinking about it, deciding whether or not it's _good_ for him, for Jon to be splayed out over Tommy's lap like this, waiting for Lovett’s dick, and says, “I guess I'll just have to make sure he doesn't forget who's fucking him.”

As if that's in the realm of possibility. Right now, Jon’s pretty sure he couldn't physically stand up on his own two legs, even if he wanted to, even if they ordered him to, but he does know, from his teeth to his ankles, that it's been exactly three minutes since Tommy carefully, sweetly pulled his wet cock out of him and Lovett didn't immediately replace it with his dick.

“Lo,” Jon says, and it comes out as more of a whine. He arches his back, dropping his face against Tommy's flank, and tries to show Lovett how much he needs it, how good he's been.

“Hold him,” Lovett says and Jon feels Tommy's hands come up soft and sure — one on the back of his neck, the other high up on his side, under the hinge of his arm.

He's — he wonders, in a distant kind of way, what sounds he's making that have got Tommy leaning forward, saying softly against his ear, “Shh, shh, baby, I know, he's gonna put his dick inside of you, he's gonna— gonna fill you up,” low and bracing and soothing, and then he stops wondering and instead feels everything else fall away as Lovett's hands come up to spread him, the wet head of his dick touching Jon's hole once, before Jon feels himself opening up around the hot length of it as Lovett fucks his way inside of him.

Tommy hefts him closer, pulling Jon up his body so if he ducks his head he can press it into Tommy’s chest. Lovett follows, fucking in hard enough that Jon feels the edge of soreness building, now, the way he really will be feeling it tomorrow.

Tommy’s thigh is firm beneath him, and if Jon gripped onto Tommy’s hips, if he angled himself right, he could —

“Hey, hey,” Lovett says, pulling at Jon’s shoulders until he straightens up. “Did I say you could rub off against Tommy?”

Jon twists his head round to meet Lovett’s gaze and shakes his head, gasping and gritting his teeth.

Lovett stills, buried inside Jon, and leans down to kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “L’vett,” Jon manages. Didn’t they say they’d give him what he needed? He needs, now.

“You’re gorgeous,” Lovett says, starting to fuck him again with short, sharp motions. “You feel so good.”

Jon lets his head hang down, sweaty fingers clenched in the sheets rucked up around Tommy’s ribs, rocking against his thigh.

Lovett reaches around and grasps Jon’s cock lightly, just a brush of his fingers, and even that’s almost enough for Jon but not quite, he can’t yet — he screws his eyes shut, breath hitching, and mutters, “Please, Lovett, Tommy, please.”

“Do you— d’you think he’s earned it?” Lovett says unsteadily.

Jon can’t breathe, suddenly, like all the air’s gone from the room. Lovett wouldn’t, he _can’t_. What else can Jon possibly — he took his spanking, and he knows he was good, they told him he took it well, they _said_ so, and he doesn't know what else he could _do_. How else can he prove he's theirs? He would’ve crawled into the house for them, he thinks, inhaling shakily; he’s wearing a collar for them, he’s so hard it hurts and he’s been waiting for so long, and if Lovett withholds his reward after all this —

Jon doesn’t notice he’s gone tense until Tommy’s hand tightens on his neck, over the collar. “Shh, shh, that’s not. _Jon_ , listen to me,” Tommy’s saying, and Jon can just make it out over the roar of static in his head.

He fights to look up, even though every bone in his body feels impossibly heavy. He realizes as he peels himself up from Tommy that his face is wet, that Tommy’s chest is covered in a sheen of sweat and tears. That Tommy looks concerned, and Jon doesn’t know why but he doesn’t want him looking that way.

“Are you listening?” Tommy asks, and his face breaks into a smile when Jon makes himself nod. He reaches out to wipe under Jon’s eyes, and when Jon sniffles and tries to duck his head, he holds him there. “It’s fine, sweetheart, you can cry. It’s okay.”

Jon takes a great shuddering breath and nods, relieved when Tommy puts his hand back on the collar, warm and sure. Tommy looks over Jon’s head to Lovett. “Tell him.”

“Jon,” Lovett says immediately, “fuck, that’s not what I meant, I— of course you have, okay? You’ve earned it, babe, you’ve been so good for us. You’re gonna come so hard for us, aren’t you?” Lovett leans forward so he’s plastered over Jon’s back, and Jon tries to match his breathing. “You’re gonna— fuck, look so beautiful when you come. Just take it a little longer, that’s all you have to do.”

Jon nods jerkily, pushing back against Tommy’s hand on his neck to feel the warm solidity of his grip. “—m’gonna,” he says. “Can wait.”

He can’t seem to stop crying, though, now he’s started. He’s lost any hope of keeping up a rhythm, or staying still for them, is just rocking jerkily, held between them, his head hanging down.

Tommy keeps talking to him, all low-voiced praise. “So hot, baby, you look so good. Love how much you need this, always so ready for us. You need it all the fucking time, don’t you? Lovett’s going to come inside you, going to give it to you, gonna fill you up, just like you wanted.”

Jon wants to wrap himself in their words like a blanket. He feels it like something physical, and he’d keep going longer, if they asked, he’d beg for it again, he’d do anything they ask, but now — Lovett stretches up, leaning against Jon’s back, and reaches around again, says, “Tommy, you wanna — together.”

The first touch of their hands feels less like pleasure and more like relief. Jon lets his head tip back on Lovett’s shoulder, his mouth hanging open, letting everything happen to him, all at once.

“Are you—,” Lovett huffs out a breath and shifts behind him, reorienting them and pulling Jon to kneel so he’s sitting on Lovett’s cock, on display for Tommy. “That’s— good,” Lovett says, and his voice sounds strained.

They jerk him off like that, both of their hands wrapped around his cock, Lovett tight behind him, Tommy holding himself up on one hand. Jon lets himself sink further into the place where it’s all white noise except for the sound of their voices, so that when Lovett says, hushed, “Come on, then. Come on, baby, come for us,” Jon sobs and does.

Lovett holds him up as he shakes, fucking him through his orgasm with shallow strokes, the only thing he can manage in this position. Tommy takes over jerking him off, until he’s twitching from oversensitivity.

“That’s it, so good, baby. You’re so— _fuck_ , Jon,” Lovett breaks off, gasping in Jon’s ear, the movement of his hips getting erratic.

“Here,” Tommy says, and then his hands are on Jon’s chest, his shoulders, sitting up further so he can tug Jon in. “C’mere, lean against me, so Lovett can come in you. That’s what you want, right?”

Jon just whines, letting Tommy pull him forward so he’s slumped against his chest again, like he was back at the office for the last few hits, clutching at his arms while Lovett fucks into him, just this side of brutal. He distantly hears Lovett say, “Thanks,” before he begins thrusting in, hard, just this side of brutal every time his cock brushes Jon’s prostate. Jon’s shivering, he can’t seem to stop, and his face is wet where it’s buried in Tommy’s neck.

“So close,” Lovett pants out. “So, so close, you’re so fucking perfect, both of you, I—”

Tommy leans around Jon to kiss him, crushing Jon between them. Jon whines and holds onto Tommy tighter, trying to move his hips to give Lovett the the best angle to work with. He can do this. He’s sore and aching, and he wants to curl up and sleep for at least ten hours, but he wants to make this good for them even more. Wants to be what they need. They’ve given him everything; he can do this.

“Come on,” Tommy’s saying, “come on, fill him up.”

Lovett groans and he moves faster, harder, so that Tommy has to brace Jon, keeping a hand at the back of his neck. He’s tapping just below the line of the collar, in an absent sort of rhythm Jon can’t place, at least not right now, when everything is so bright and so loud and so much. He thinks of morse code, wonders if Tommy knows it, if he could teach them, if maybe —

Tommy’s fingers leave his neck, and then both hands are on his shoulders, pushing him back a little. He ducks his head to look Jon in the eye, and it takes Jon a second to focus on him. To nod when he says, “You okay? Here with us?” Tommy gathers him closer this time, leaning down so he can wrap an arm around Jon’s back. It can’t be comfortable, but Tommy just holds onto him as Lovett thrusts into him. “Lovett’s gonna give it to you, sweetheart, just like you wanted, okay?”

The sentence isn’t even all the way out of Tommy’s mouth when Lovett moans, his hips stilling, cock buried in Jon’s body. Jon can feel him coming, and he whines into Tommy’s shoulder. They both shush him, their hands running up and down his arms, his legs, wherever they can reach.

Tommy kisses Jon’s slack mouth as Lovett pulls out, then urges him up the bed, to the pillows. He lets Jon lie on his front, nuzzled into the bed and shivering lightly, and moves back down, running his fingers gently over Jon’s backside. He has to look a mess, marked up by Lovett and dripping with their come, but Tommy’s voice sounds reverent when he says, “So beautiful, sweetheart. Love you so much.”

“You too,” Jon mutters, his eyes fluttering closed. “Both of you. Love you, too.”

“We know,” Lovett says, and his voice is far away, but Jon can hear him walking closer. Then there’s a warm, wet cloth on him, wiping him down. Lovett draws it carefully over his ass, but it still makes Jon hiss. “Tomorrow’s going to be hell for you.”

Lovett doesn’t sound particularly sorry, but Jon wouldn’t want him to be. He needed this, and the pain will be good. Grounding. Plus, he knows they’ll both love to watch him squirm while he’s trying to work.

“S’fine,” he says, slurred where half of his face is buried in the pillow, and his response must be delayed because both of them laugh, soft and fond. He reaches out to them, or tries to, slapping at the skin he can feel. “C’mere already.”

Lovett laughs again. “What do you want, babe?”

“Held,” Jon says, simply.

“Figures,” Lovett says, teasing, but Jon feels the bed dip as he spreads out beside him. “Who’re you smothering?”

“You,” Jon says, turning and rearranging so he can sprawl across Lovett’s body, head on the pillow next to his, crushing Lovett’s arm between them.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lovett says, but he reaches up to run his free hand through Jon’s hair, betraying his words. “I’m passing you off to Tommy as soon as I get too hot.”

Jon hums, and presses his face into the side of Lovett’s neck. “Limpet,” Lovett accuses, but he keeps holding onto him. He runs his thumb over Jon’s cheeks and under his eyes, where the skin’s puffy and salt-tracked. “Hey,” he says into the top of Jon’s head, smiling when Jon kisses his wrist. Lovett strokes the hand trapped between them down Jon’s belly, squeezing lightly and startling a laugh out of him.

Tommy slides in behind Jon, tight to his side, careful not to brush against Jon’s ass. He taps at the collar, and Jon makes a pleased sound.“You wanna take this off?”

“Not yet, please.” Jon starts to tense up, and then Tommy’s hand moves away, sweeping down his back and up again.

He settles an arm around Jon’s waist, stretching across to touch Lovett. “Alright, baby. We’ll keep it on for now, okay?”

Jon nods from his place against Lovett’s neck, yawning, eyes closed.

“Go to sleep,” Lovett says, and Tommy adds, “We’ve got work in the morning.”

Jon smiles, because that’s right. They do.


End file.
